Sometime around Wednesday morning the week shifted from a crawl to a creep. Mychl was glad the conference was over. He was ready to be home, in his city, at his house, in his bed. It had been yet another trivial conference where people who had promised insight seemed to just regurgitate the same tired information. The clock was moving too slow for his liking. In an effort to pass the time he had gone down to the hotel lobby, ordered a club soda, and settled in on one of the many couches to people watch. It was a hobby of his, and Vegas seemed to be people watching heaven. All the stereotypes were there for consumption.
Looking over at the bar Mychl saw the mid-life crisis. A gentleman, wearing clothes that would have seemed over the top on a man 10 years his junior, stood with his back to the bar. His eyes darted across the room, and his face was quick to smile at the slightest hint of interest. Yes, Mr. Mid-Life was on the prowl, seeking the medication that would return him to years gone by, if even just for the night. Mychl couldn't help but chuckle to himself and he promised to shoot himself if he ever acted like Mr. Mid-Life.
Only a few stools down was another man. Mychl assumed this scene was currently being reproduced many times all over the city. The man was sitting quietly, shaking his head, and slowly spinning the glass that held his draft beer. It was a short leap for Mychl to assume that the man was going over in his head the conversation he would have to have when he got home on how his luck had turned incredibly bad, and he had lost it all.
Leaning against one of the high top tables was a woman whose make-up was fresh and just slightly too thick. She was dressed in way that seemed more of an advertisement than anything else. The hotel was a little too nice to allow a "working" girl to stake out her territory on the premises, so Mychl again figured she was just another face in the endless crowd seeking any way to not be alone this evening, and hoping to find that convenient diversion that would save her from her thoughts of decisions past.
This city didn't sleep. Mychl realized this insomnia wasn't from any sense of excitement, but more from a troubled conscience. There was a weight to this place, a weight that was caused by a million skeletons in a million closets. A truth that seemed to be understood by everyone, yet never discussed, as if to do so would break some rule or code.
That must have been why Esmee caught Mychl's eye when she entered. She seemed protected from her surroundings, almost as if she didn't belong. Of all of the secrets of the city, she shared none of them. She moved with confidence in this environment. She was dressed casually but still tastefully, in her loose fitting blouse with a tank top underneath and just slightly faded jeans which looked to be perfectly broken in to the curve of her hips and the movement of her walk. She stood at the Guest Services desk for a longer time than normal, and even though Mychl could not hear the conversation, he continued to watch as she handled her interaction with the Concierge. Upon completion of her business she walked over to a couch, almost directly across the room from Mychl, and sat down to make a phone call. He felt juvenile at his enjoyment of watching the sway of her hips as she walked away from him. They really did seem like very comfortable jeans.
Mychl could not put his finger on what it was, but he found himself finishing his drink and standing up to approach her. What was he doing? He was tired, and longed for home. His flight was only a few hours from now. Still, there was an unmistakable magnetism that urged him onward. He was not the type to approach strange women in hotel lobbies, and she most definitely did not seem the type of woman who engaged in those types of advances. Still, Mychl felt a gravity pull him towards her, and this force was not going to be denied on this night.
"Do you have the time?", he asked her. In his head he cringed. Who asks the time anymore? Everyone has a phone or tablet. Not to mention she is bound to notice the new wristwatch he purchased just a few weeks ago. Esmee smirked just slightly and answered politely. Mychl was surprised at how the conversation flowed from there. It was small talk, but even though they had just met, it had a comfortable feel as if they were old friends who had not seen each other in a very long while. They both were able to make each other laugh, which eased their tension in a situation that was very foreign to them both. They sat and talked for maybe 30 minutes, and even though the words they spoke were not specific to the thoughts roaming inside their heads, they communicated their desire in other ways. An extended pause in the chatting left them in silence, gazing at each other. Mychl tilting his head down, just a bit, as he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Did she feel what his eyes were asking her? She must have, as she held his gaze for only a moment before looking away, the tiniest grin forming on her mouth as she twirled her hair around and through two of her fingers.
Mychl suggested that they continue their conversation upstairs. His boldness surprised himself as he said it, but he felt as if she would understand that this was not a typical encounter for him. His assumption was confirmed as she reached over and placed her hand on top of his, lowered her voice, and simply whispered, "Okay."
